Specter/Slater/Isreal vs Inkt/Kief/Kain

[Ryan Pugh]

1 rp a piece

[Inkt]

"Well fellas, we got fucked again it would seem. Way to pull your weight this week, al. You know im really starting to wonder if you have what it actually takes to be a part of the cRu these days. It seriously concerns me that you've gone like 0 for the century when it comes to crunch time moments. I mean, you and Johnny had how many tag matches together?"

"DooD, don't go there, Inkt. C'mon."

Inkt shoots a look of hatred at Johnny for a brief moment.

"Oh, no. Fuck you, I'm going there. One minute and thirty fucking seconds? It takes me longer to get my dick out of my pants to take a piss."

"That's only cause you can't find it, biscuit."

"Shut your cock, Pugh."

Al stood there with his head down in shame like a little puppy dog bitch who just pissed in the corner and had gotten his nose rubbed in it.

"Guys.."

"No. You don't get to talk right now. It's my turn. You had your chance to talk with your fists, and you fucking blew it. Im startin to think we might have ourselves a traitor on our team, boys. Funny. Al does all these favors for Roger over here, right? Then, what's next? We lose probably the biggest match of the year because of two pump chump. Well fuck that shit. You think about what you could have done better, 'show stealer.' Im fuckin out."

Inkt gathered his duffel bag and slung it over his shoulder while the rest of the guys shared a What the fuck moment with each other in silence. Something had gotten under Inkt's skin. Something more then the loss at WWX. He wanted to call bullshit on the whole fucking thing, but in the long run, where would that have gotten him? Crying like a bitch to some one who really didn't wanna hear it.

Speaking of crying like a bitch, Inkt began to think about his upcoming match. As he recalled, he wasn't down for it one bit. In fact, to him, it was pretty much a slap in the face. There was him, and then LA Keif. The man who cannot beat him when it comes to taking the TV title belt from him, and then Tommy Kain, Keif's little butt buddy. Seriously, the dude would have more to say about himself then he would a pair of perfect tits bouncing in his face. Isn't that right, pheely? At least keif would get some sort of arousal out of it. Not that it would take to much. Much like Pugh, the dude would probably fuck a hole in the wall as long as their were a pair of balls drawn under neath it.

Oh, but it gets better, doesn't it? It gets a whole lot better. They get to take on the fucking brits. That's right, the goddamned redcoats, and some watermelon eating, grape soda drinking waste of flesh. Seriously, Pugh must have been hit in the fucking head way too hard when he was writing this card, cause the way he had presented it to inkt was simply, 'ya'll have some sort of history.' Bitch, of course we have some sort of history, we've all fucking been in the business for a long ass time. Shit, Inkt's got history with just about any one of these sons of bitches. But, back to the plan at hand. We have ourselves, the two brits and... we have two brits. One he had beaten, and one he hadn't... or at least he didn't think he had. Hell, specter was a pile of dog shit that had been scraped off of inkt's shoe and forgotten. Much like his wrestling career. Sure, he could claim the rights to this that and the other, but does it really matter? Nope.

"Inkt, hold up, buddy, the hell crawled up your ass and died man?"

"What crawled up my ass pugh? You seriously can't tell? Not only did you watch two of your prized possessions get their asses handed to them tonight by a less talented group, you thought it fucking clever to book me with these two fucking hacks, to go up against a pair of guys and a dirtweed smokin, food stamp collectin, non workin... -"

"easy, fella."

"What? Your mom still gettin food stamps?"

"You're comin dangerously close to the edge buddy. Why don't you cool off. I know its been a bitch of a week for you, and trust me, you need to try and look at the positives of this match?"

"What's fucking positive about it? Im the fucking odd man out. I thought you were supposed to be looking out for us. I mean shit, hoss, you're too chicken shit to kick envy's losing ass out of the cRu, your too chicken shit to step the fuck up to your wife and take what's rightfully yours. You're too god damned proud to admit that you may have just MAY have made a mistake with this fucking match. It's a goddamned fluke that slater even has such a low level belt man. I mean, the odds are in his favor."

"You beat him once."

"Yeah, and i beat you once too. What's the point."

"The fucking point is, you cynical fuck is that you need to man the fuck up, grow a set of big kid balls, and just make the fuck due. Im not tellin you that you have to like this, hell im not even tellin you that you have to 'work' with these guys. What I am telling you, Inkt, is that you need to win. One way or the other. The W bracket is gettin a little slim on your part these days, and to be honest, you aren't doing a whole hell of a lot better then envy right now."

"Oh fuck you for making that comment, you asshole. Firstly? When it comes to important shit, i step it up. You know that, they fucking know that, and the fans know that. But how in the fucking hell am i supposed to shine with these goddamned hacks man. Seriously, its like being sent down to the minors to then turn around, and take them head to head with the big guys. I know what to expect, I know how to handle myself. But Keif? KEIF? Of all fucking people, how in the fucking fuck is he supposed to step up? Or what about Kain, what the shit then?"

"What about him man, there for a while, he was a prospect. Shit i had plans for him."

"Then what happened, pugh?"

Pugh stood there in silence.

"Exactly. Ex fucking actly. I mean, why not make it something worth while for the fans. Shit, put pain in there. Least then, you can get some eye candy and team work going. But no, i guess since she must have showed you her tits at some point in time, you gave her the week off."

"I didn't get her the fucking week off."

"You're right, you put her against some one who couldn't even find their fucking way to the arena. So, yeah, you gave her the week off. Or, fuck you could have put that fuck ass rivers on their team. Shit any one but me man. That's what im fucking getting at. Im not gonna carry this team again just to fucking lose. That's bullshit. You and I both fucking know it."

Pugh stands there and lowers his head. It had been few and far between that he'd seen Inkt fired up over anything. But apparently, there was some rage building up. A fire inside. Inkt wanted something, but pugh wasn't sure what, and with inkt not actually opening up, and more so sounding like a whiney british bitch, his hands were tied.

"Look, you go get your head right, inkt. We'll talk about this later."

"Pugh, there's nothing to talk about, bro. Nothing to talk about. And even if there was, its not like you'd do anything about it. What's done is done. Don't you worry though, I'll do right by the cru. At least some one fucking will."

Inkt then turned and B lined it for the locker room once more where he saw al sitting on the bench.

"Fuck you Envy. You fucking sell out. How did it feel to sell your fucking soul to New edge wrestling over your own fucking brothers? Huh? How'd it fucking feel? I hope you can fucking sleep at night, you little bitch."

Before Inkt could lace into him any more, pugh grabbed him by his neck and slung him against the cinder block wall down the hall. Sticking his finger in Inkt's face, he offered one last bit of knowledge.

"Look here, fucker. I love you like a fucking brother, but i'll be god damned if you step out of line like this again. Consider this your fucking warning, you got that?"

"You're fucking warning me now? About what? Huh? The fuck's gonna happen to Inkt, Pugh? Huh? You gonna fire me? That's about you're only fucking option now, isn't it? Cause it sure as shit isn't gonna come down to you trading me. Isn't that right? Yeah, hey, great fucking acquisition. You bought a whole fucking fed for what? Five fucking people? Really? Was it worth it? Shit, I didn't even think your whore of a wife let you carry-"

Just then Pugh slammed his fist into the wall next to Inkt. A small indentation in the cement is seen as the thud echoed down the hall. Inkt stood there, eyes focused on Pugh.

"Do it. I fucking dare you, fat boy. You've fucking changed man."

"I've changed? Look at you. You're the one who's changed. Shit, I dont even know how to take you any more. I can't tell if its the roids speaking, of if your just trying your luck... Or if you're just bein a fuckin dick. No one knows any more, Inkt."

"He's just bein a fucking dick. Get over it pugh, let him go."

Pugh turns to look over his shoulder, seeing x standing in the doorway to the locker room. Just then, Inkt fires pugh off of him, and continues down the hall.

"INKT! We're not fucking finished!"

"Yeah, yeah you are. trust me. Right now, that dude is so blinded by rage, he wouldn't even listen to pussy logic."

"Then where the hell were you five minutes ago when he was about to rip envy's throat out?"

"Watching. Hell, im glad he lit into the show stealer, maybe that's what the dude needed. Inkt needed to light a fire, and al needed one lit. It's a win win pugh. Look at it like this, okay? He's a fucking black hole for rage, right? Right now, he's probably the most pissed off i've ever seen him. Yeah? You really want to try and harness that shit? Or would you rather him use it in the ring?"

"Problem is, x? I don't even know if he's gonna keep out of trouble until the match. Shit, I don't even know if he'd make it through the night."

"Well, guess you should leave your cell on then, right? Might need some bail money."

"I ain't bailin shit out. If he gets in trouble, his ass can stay there for all i care."

"One of us will bail him out pugh. Before it escalates into something along the lines of prison time. Trust me man, I've seen him go through these spells from time to time. Its like roid mensturation or some shit. It get's nasty, but if you ignore it, or even let it run its course, things end up running a lot more smoothly."

Pugh shakes his head as he watches Inkt carry on down the hall way.

"What the fuck are you lookin at? Huh?"

Inkt paused to intimidate a couple of stage hands.

"Nothing. Sorry. Tough break on the match tonight."

"Oh, tough break on the match tonight, really? Do you even fucking think before you open that fuckin cocksucker of yours? Tough break on the match tonight. Don't tell me that shit. I had a great fucking match. You go tell al fucking envy tough break on the match tonight. Bitch might as well have been sick in the ring or something. Fuckin puss."

"S..Sorry, Inkt. I.. I didn't think. You're right."

"Goddamn right, im right. Done wright."

It had amazed Inkt that people still thought that he was within stable body and mind to be able to take humble banter, but the fact of the matter was it wasn't what you said, or even how you said it. It was the simple fact that he was spoken to. It was nights like this where Inkt would go to the gym and rock out a power session, or go to the bar and rock out a power session, or watch internet porn, and rock out a power session. However, none of these seemed to be the right direction for him tonight. With that, he pressed his back against the wall, right next to the exit doors, and slumped down to the ground. His emotions where getting the best of him. Possibly a side effect of the drugs. (there we go, see, im giving you guys all sorts of shit to use to your advantage). Taking a deep breath, he patted the pocket of his cargo shorts and pulled form it his pack of smokes, and his flask. Both were essential right now. Hell, he was off the clock, what would it matter if a fan saw him, or any one else for that matter. He had nothing to hide, clearly. Even though smoking in california these days was damn near illegal, it didn't stop him from firing one up. Besides, who in their right might would tell him that he couldn't? Exactly.

"ahh, well, how the mighty have fallen."

Inkt looks up only to see the face of Tommy Kain. A man, who, all things considered was a handsome bastard. Some might even say he's dreamy. With a smirk, Inkt offers the flask to Tommy.

"You're one to talk, bruh. How long were you in there?"

Tommy shrugs, and smiles taking the flask.

"All in all, I don't think it matters man. Both our teams got fucked in the ass tonight. "

"Yeah, but the way i remember it, you got fucked a whole hell of a lot harder then I did."

"That may be, Inkt, but not nearly as hard as your boy back there."

The two of them look down the hall and see al walking out of the locker room with his head held down.

"HEY ENVY!"

Al looked down the hall to see who was calling his name, only to find Inkt's middle finger extended in the air.

"FUCK YOU!"

Al shook his head and continued in the other direction.

"Seriously, I thought he was supposed to be a big deal."

"You have no idea how many people thought that, and for the most part still think that. Let's just say he's not a team player unless he's with that fat assed chester."

Tommy takes a pull from the flask and hands it back to Inkt.

"Christ, what is that?"

Inkt shrugs and smiles tipping the flask back.

"Mother's Milk."

"I'll toast to that. So, I take it you've heard about what's ahead for the next match, right?"

Inkt looks to Tommy through dissatisfied eyes.

"I thought so. Look, Inkt, im not to pleased about it myself. But shit man, I need to cover some ground after what happened tonight. I mean, I think we can do it. We got kief."

"That means shit to me, Tom. Absolute shit."

"I know it doesn't mean a lot to you, but he and I are like fuckin butter out there, man, we've been working together for a long ass time. I mean, shit, It's like you and Pugh."

"fuck pugh."

"Well, whatever, all I'm sayin is, when it comes to slater, specter, and ken, we're not the ones you need to worry about. So, you need to check that shit at the door."

Tommy reaches for the flask once more, and Inkt obliges.

"Point taken. Look man, im not in the mood to make friends, okay? kief's after my belt, I know you from a shit stain in pugh's drawers, and as far as these other guys go? Fuck em. They're still representing that pissant of a fucking fed. You need to realize that too. We need to get fucking closure on this bitch before we become another notch in the belt so to speak."

"I hear you man. I here you. But, look, all im sayin is, remember who your team is when it comes time. The last thing I want is to have your rage ego take over, and you to dull needle the fuck out of me and my boy."

Inkt shakes his head.

"I can't guarantee that's gonna happen, Kain. Once I get it goin, there's no stopping me. So, for what its worth, im sorry in advance."

Just then the odd sound of the prosthetic leg of kief's hitting the cement with each step... (Yeah thats not too accurate, im sure he's got a shoe on that bitch or something, but none the less, in this RP he's a fucking pirate.) The winded tub of tranny love makes his way up to them.

"Hey guys, what'cha do- Why in the heck are you talkin to him, tommy?"

"I told you kief, we have to make an exception to our cRu rules this week. We need him just as much as he needs us."

"But he's mean... And sexy. Yeah okay, im in. Inkt, you wanna go hit the showers?"

Inkt looks to kief and simply shakes his head.

"Seriously man, don't mind him, he's simple. But im serious inkt, those guys over there, they've got just as much at stake here as we do. They don't get along. Hell, I dont know that i've ever seen them get along. At least Kief and I? We know what we're doing, and I really need you to buy into that, you got it?"

Inkt lowers his head and takes a draw from his almost un used cigarette.

"Whatever you say, man. Whatever you say."

Inkt stands, and exhales his smoke into the face of Kief, and flicks the cigarette butt at the feet of Tommy.

"You two do what you gotta do. I know what I have to do."

With that, Inkt places a hand on the door and lets himself out, leaving the other two to stare at each other in silence.

"That guy's a dick."

[Tommy Kain]

That guys a dick.

Huh, what did you say?

Tommy Kain had appeared to be a bit more distracted than normal lately. Now sure it could be because the constant infusion of liver killing booze being smashed through his bloodstream may have also taken a toll on his brain function.

Or just as easily be due to being dumped on his head and face in a stupid, ram fucking cage, in a match he didn't want anything to do with to begin with.

But then again it might be more to do with that little box, with the red bow he left hidden in his closet back at his apartment. A box that could basically change his entire life as he knew it. A box containing a promise. A fucking diamond covered, overpriced, expensive, enough to feed the Phillipines for a week, promise, but a promise nonetheless.

But none of that fucking mattered right this second. Because for one, TK was pretty sure he was going blind in his right eye and getting ready to puke a fucking aircraft carrier, he didn't know what the fuck INKT had given him to drink but he knew he could probably use it in a pinch to fuel a fucking jet.

No wonder that crazy fuck was going all RAGE crazy all the time.

But anyway, back to the conversation.

Yeah, I'm sure he has a dick Kief. Which means that he's just a giant rack away from being right in your wheelhouse huh buddy?

If that wasn't true it would have been kind of mean Tom Tom. Especially now that I have a tranny version of INKT in my Jack file, located in my spank bank, on plastic bag full of hand lotion Boulevard.

Sorry Kieffy, you don't look so good, you doin okay?

Uhhhhh, I'm okay, it's just my peener, it's all hard and I can feel my heartbeat in it. It's all throbby, I.....I....gotta go.

Kief grabs a copy of MILF's of Madison County Cougar CUNTRY and slams the bathroom door behind him.

Dude, I put some wipes in there, fucking use em this time okay. I don't need any Kief babies on my ring gear........Again.

From behind the door noises are made that aren't much different than how you can imagine a dying Brontosaurus would sound. Especially if he had a flame covered tank driven up his poop chute.

TK is unmoved by the racket. He had known Kief a long time and this was going to be a mild session of dolphin waxing or clown punching depending on which coast you lived.

He pulled out a bottle of Bacardi and took a long swallow, mostly to get the taste of INKT's fucking super devil juice out of his mouth.

Some of the events of World War X started actually become coherent thoughts in his Alcohol addled mind.

PCW was now the only show in town. Just when the cRu looked like they were in trouble they flipped the fucking script again and appeared like they had the upper hand. He couldn't really wrap his mind around the logistics of the situation and more importantly he didn't care.

It didn't matter.

It was how the business was. There was always a power that would be, there would always be a machine and there would always be somebody to rage against that big fucker, no matter how impossible or pointless it seemed.

And of course TK found him self, smack dab in the middle of it. Nothing new there, that has always been his thing. He has always been the kind of guy to throw himself in the deep shit with toothpicks for paddles and a boat made of flaming cotton balls.

Partly because he loved a good fight, but mostly because he loved the fucking attention of a good fight. You put yourself in the shit, mother fuckers tend to notice.

And this week, well it wasn't going to be any different.

He and Kief and INKT of all fucking people were gonna take on some of the PCW's newest additions.

Adrien Specter, Matt Slater, and Kenny Israel.

TK had to agree with INKT about how happy those three would be about wrestling under their new banner. Espcially considering that Pugh and Roger Wright basically wiped their taints with their contracts and pulled some old "I'll bet you, one penny." TRADING PLACES bullshit. But that wasn't TK's concern.

TK's concern was simple.

These three fucks were in HIS house now. A place he had spent months making his happy little home. A place where he was a Tag Team Champion and The Sultan of the motherfucking South.

And he knew that a fuckbag like Matt Slater would take a win in a match like this and spin it in to some kind of entitlement, pretending that he should get a match for one if not both of TK's titles, and TK wasn't good with that kind of shit. Not this fucking time. He had scratched and clawed his way and he would be god, devil, and whiskey damned if he was gonna abdicate his thrones that fucking easy.

It was bad enough these former NEW fuckholes would probably come in here beating their chest about that stupid WarGames bullshit.

OH SHIVA, OHHHHHH ZEUS, KIEFFY IS BOUT TO, BOUT TO,

THARRRRRR SHHHHEEEEEE BLOOOOOWWWWWWSSSSSSSSSSSS

TK realized that it would be another twenty minutes or so before Kief was able to get all the blood flow back to his brain, dry off, and clean up after himself. So he decided to rest his head against the wall when he saw Vince Walters, NEW announcer guy, walking by, looking all kinds of pissy. behind him he saw some stage hands loading up all the audio and Visual equipment.

HEY YOU, WALTERS, DESK MONKEY, COME HERE!

Vince Walters at first attempted to ignore the words coming his way but, honestly, some days, especially days you get thrown out on your ass you probably figure either

A) How much worse can this get?

or

B) At least I still have my health and when a drunken sociopath addresses me by name I should probably listen.

So Walters makes the slow walk back to TK's general vicinity.

Well don't just stand there Vin, grab a camera, fire it up, I got some shit to say.

But, But I'm not a.......

B....B....Bu.....Nothing motherfucker. Not with that attitude you ain't. Look, this might be your fucking shot bro. Maybe Pugh or his wife will see how fucking versatile you are and realize that you are a fucking conduit between them and the fucking people. You can show em that you don't need to put syrup on Birthday Cake son.

I have no idea what that means.

Nobody does shitbird, but it don't matter. What matters is you holding that microphone in front of that fucking camera, smiling pretty, and shutting the fuck up while TK does what he does.

A few minutes later, somehow Walters has found a way to get the camera up and running and positioned it in front of he and The Tag Team Southern Champion of all existence.

See man, that wasn't sooooo damned hard was it?

Actually, not really, I just.......

Damnit fucksock, I was being Re fucking torical, now shut up and hold the mic still like I showed ya.

Tommy Kain here, Southern Champion, REAL world Tag Team Champion, and all around fucking amazing guy. I'm here with the recently shitcanned Vincenzo Walters and he's kind of camera shy so I'll tell you that he just asked Good ol' TK what he thought about wrestling three former NEW trash diggers who need to feel lucky that they even have a fucking job.



Well Vincent, it feels pretty fucking lame actually.

I mean sure I could be on television defending my Southern Title or maybe teaming with Ton of fun Tranny Killer, L.A. Kief defending our REAL tag team titles. But noooooooooo.

I'm in a fucking six man match that I'm sure marketing will label as some kind of clusterfuck for company pride or some kind of shit.

But I'll tell you what it really is.

It's a way for Tommy Kain, L.A. Kief, and even to some extent the cRu to establish a pecking order around here. To let the rest of these NEW rejects know that they don't belong here. They have always thought they were too good for us. Looking down their noses at us and everything we've done.

Now, now we're just supposed to stand here and welcome these fucking douche hounds just walk around our fucking turf unchecked.

Well fuck that bro.

Fuck that with a flaming tire iron coverd in battery acid.

Because this is OUR fucking house and IN OUR FUCKING HOUSE YOU TAKE YOUR FUCKING SHOES OFF BEFORE YOU WALK IN MOTHERFUCKERS!

I ain't a fan of the cRu but I'll tell you what.

I'd rather fight side by side with one of those fratboy fuckholes than spend ten seconds hanging out with anybody from that corpse of a company.

Now if you can't dig that motherfucker, go buy a bigger shovel.


TK already over and now I'm out.

TK then kicks over the camera all old school gangsta rapper style and then sits back down on the bench in the locker room.

And ya see Vin dog, that's how its done. You're welcome by the way.

I really need to use the lavatory, do you mind.

TK thought for a second about telling Walters that Kief just finished up some self love and was probably naked and fairly post coital, but then he realized that there would be a criminal lack of fun in that.

Nah man, it's right over there. Knock yourself out.

Walters makes his way to the bathroom door and the horror can't really be expressed in words but lets try just for fun.

OH MY DEAREST OF LORDS, WHAT IS THAT?

What it was in fact was L.A. Kief naked and oiled up looking as if he had been swimming in first grade paste.

Hold me.

[Deleted]

The Power Of Three

After what has just transpired at World War X, I only have one question to ask; a rather relevant one that doesn’t need repeating, even if it’ll be translated and enunciated in different languages and various forms of speech around the known world.

Who is “Better Than U” now?

Don’t even try to answer it. It’s a rhetorical enquiry, because the events of World War X, especially the climactic War Games Match, have shown you everything you need to know about a faction that claimed they were greater than everybody else.

How pitiful they are now, both individually and collectively.

The tyrannical, monstrous conglomerate known as the cRu, being gloriously dominant for the past few weeks with smart ambush attacks and political schemes, that constantly emphasised their futuristic success upon an abandoned Island that marked the territory of brand-wide warfare, disappointingly falls at the last hurdle and contradict their earlier statements of triumph and global power.

And the greatest irony of all, is that a man who formerly believed he didn’t belong among the other participants inside that unforgiving cage, a man who wanted to redeem his qualities by rising up the ranks, from division to division, instead of leaping back into the Main Event picture and taking charge, was the last person standing when it was all said and done.

I’m not going to lie; I’m satisfyingly amused by these results. I proved to the world that I deserved respect, adulation and gratitude to the highest degree, by outlasting two opposing teams and leaving the cRu’s only remaining hope of clarifying their superiority on the canvas, staring up at the projective lights that illuminated these brutal festivities. I may have not exactly been a man of my earlier word, going back on my serious vow by including myself in a match as a representative of New Edge Wrestling, but after thinking about things and consolidating them constantly with my entrusted allies, I wasn’t going to let this exposed opportunity go to waste.

Team NEW’s chemistry and resilience proved fruitful at World War X, and despite what occurred afterwards ... we left a lasting mark on the business. Me, Cera, Carter ... we did our best to show that we had it in us to compete and tolerate immense brutality, attempting to win with fortitude and intellectual tactics, and we did. So everyone’s personal misconceptions of us are just that; falsified and erased. We did our job, and as a group, our worthwhile victory had been attained.

You might notice that Roger Wright’s name isn’t part of that collective. Well there is a very good reason for his exclusion, and I’m fairly certain that most people are aware of the ramifications and consequences that unfolded after I was announced as the sole survivor. It was an historical closure that would no doubt be noted down for future reference and research, a closure that no one genuinely expected beforehand ... including me.

Roger Wright, the proclaimed martyr and beneficial owner of New Edge Wrestling, turned his back on what he tried to elevate and re-energize by siding with the cRu. But not only did he exchange his common business suit for a black and white T-Shirt that would slowly go out of style, he exchanged something far more memorable and important, something that nobody expected to die away in this fashion.

He sold New Edge Wrestling to Pugh Championship Wrestling, effectively terminating any future projects that might arise, and putting a full stop – not an exclamation point – on the longevity of a company that had been disposed of in an instant.

In some ways, people would assume I’d be bitter and aggravated about this ultimate betrayal. They’d believe I’d be agitated and annoyed at suffering an unforeseen Wright Stuff in the middle of the ring before being decimated by the reformed cRu. In fact, they’d think, after contemplating Roger’s former preoccupations during our team exercises in San Francisco, and matching it up to his previous moods and behavioural outputs over the past few weeks and how it slowly started to make sense, that I’d feel foolish for not seeing it coming sooner.

But I wasn’t.

There was no semblance of frustration brewing inside, no shroud of vengeance that I wanted to bestow and justify, no immediate plan to seek revenge for what he had despicably done and laminated.

I was nonchalant about the entire situation and accepted it for what it was.

People might call bullshit on this, and they are entitled to that right, but I just didn’t care about what direction Pugh Championship Wrestling and the cRu were heading in after this transferable acquisition.

I didn’t need to be in this company. I didn’t need to be in this business as a whole. I could simply choose to walk out and never look back any time I please ... but I don’t.

Why, you might be asking? It’s because I know that businesses change every day. And as much as I hate to admit it, those hypocritical, nonsensical, easily-misled and conniving fans that I detest and vocally protest against support this company – well, New Edge Wrestling and Pugh Championship Wrestling before they were combined – like no other I have ever seen. Our exposure as a whole is more widespread and glorious than any other wrestling organization I have worked through in the past and that is the bluntest truth I can fathom at this point in time.

They supply the payment, I wrestle the matches. It’s a simple process, revolving around business and profitable income for everyone involved.

In other words, it was the end of one legacy and the creation of another, which I was ready to be a part of for my own benefits and ambitions.

But should I be fired, I’ll tell you right now, I won’t be reluctant to pack my bags and go elsewhere. I have plenty of options available to consider and evaluate on a whim. Maybe I’ll forward a call to Action Packed Wrestling as a new place to venture to and wrestle in with dedicative obligations. Perhaps I’ll send a letter of interest to Sin City Wrestling and wait patiently for their professional response, or do the same thing for Phoenix Wrestling, SHOOT and New Era.

The fact remains that wherever I go, no matter the circumstances, no matter the agreeable salary, no matter the competitive dates or intensive schedules, I’ll do everything in my immediate power to show my worth and plan to generate the respect I should be entitled to, either as a champion or as a crownless competitor.

Plus, it might help you all to know that my new contract has already been approved, signed and documented by Ryan Pugh, so obviously he’s aware of my credible talents and wants to keep me on board ... even if we have our history and can’t stand the sight of each other.

He understands what I’m capable of; just like Cera does, just like Matthew Carter does, just like the majority of the roster does.

And that includes Johnny Stylez.

How strange is it that a man associated with manipulation and underhanded strategies that everyone should strongly avoid lights the proverbial “fire under my ass” and gets me motivated and determined for a Main Event that I wanted to bypass and neglect in the first place – excluding Team NEW of course. Even more peculiar was how he described what I could be, focusing on what I should have been instead of what I had now chosen to be, as if he was being my exclusive advisor ... or my materialized conscience.

Maybe after all his time of running me down he had finally started to uncover my true ability, not having it blocked by his delusional mindset and egotistical perceptions. Maybe he finally understood what I was doing ... perhaps better than most who continued to question my motives. And maybe, just maybe, he started to respect what I was all about.

Wait, Johnny Stylez, the “Don of Disrespect”, respecting someone other than his cRu allies? That couldn’t be possible.

Guess what? It was.

“Matt Slater, the SoLe SUrViVOr of WWX? Gd 1 homie, evn if TeAm DEAD-FED winnin ws a FlUKe! Stil, new ya cud b prt of it, bt the cRu wil RiSe AGaIn ... MaYb wiv SoMe1 NEW!”

That was the text message I had received from Johnny not too long ago – it was detailed as an unknown sender with the number restricted, but from the way he had spelt certain words and capitalized random letters, I knew it was him. I didn’t even question how he had gotten my number, since most people had found it through various means anyway, forcing me to contemplate getting a new one and limiting its exposure. But what was he thinking? I couldn’t be sure, but I was staying vigilant and wary of his future developments concerning me and the methods of the cRu that they were predictably revising, just in case something ... went awry...

I was consulting this message again out of boredom outside the Commerce Casino in Los Angeles, California, waiting for a couple of invited guests to arrive for ... purposeful discussions. Gambling specialists and addicts roamed around the organized tables inside the casino, clutching onto their chips in a way that made them seem paranoid about being targeted and subjected to theft. Uniformed men and women strolled around with silver trays full of drinks and assorted snacks, servicing these individuals who were risking their savings for increased finances without keeping the infamous quotation in mind that “the Casino always wins”. It was certainly a greedy, gluttonous person’s paradise, but I wasn’t here to gamble tirelessly.

I was here to symbolize the power of three.

Keeping a hold of my phone, I decided to send a message directly to Jen’s and Cera’s phones too, one to get a reply of urgency on Jen’s location and welfare, and one to notify Cera of my current whereabouts in case she wanted to meet me for something. We had organized our week after World War X and split apart in San Francisco, going to different areas in Los Angeles and leaving Tyler for another time which was understandable due to our schedules and obligations, but we still wanted to make sure that Jen was alright ... wherever she had ventured to.

She didn’t usually stay away from Cera this long, but for some reason, I had a slight feeling that she was perfectly fine, due to her resources and foresight; despite how annoying and boisterous she got with her behaviour and favourable antics.

But if I was wrong about her safety, and that she had gotten into trouble, I wasn’t exactly sure what to do.

Just as I lit a cigarette after sending these messages, a couple of cars pulled up in the circular drive-way, two eager valets wanting to make a decent impression departing their posts and approaching each vehicle. One of these vehicles contained Adrien Specter, walking towards the black-skinned valet who stood nearby and handing him the keys, along with a financial tip. The man beamed happily before he thanked Specter for his generosity and entered the vehicle, carefully guiding it along the path to the parking area as the King of The Court approached me warily, his surveillance being strong for this planned meeting.

‘Slater...’ he said dryly, keeping his eye on me as I savoured an inhalation of smoke before blowing it out softly.

‘Specter...’ I replied in the same manner, our feelings mutual when it came to personal and professional interactions.

‘I must say this is a curious location for our meeting.’

‘Repetitive and predictable locations are getting boring and stale for me,’ I replied honestly. ‘Here we can have some fun, if we want to.’

‘I’m not much of a gambler ... not like I used to be anyway...’

‘There are plenty of things to do in there other than to gamble.’

‘Then why not choose an amusement park, or an arcade?’ Specter asked. ‘Your adventurous qualities are starting to resemble Cera’s. She’s changing you...’

‘I’d say the same thing to you about Vanessa...’ I responded. ‘How is she after her punishing loss to Ryan Pugh anyway?’

‘How is Cera after she received a Dull Needle from Inkt in the World War X Match?’

‘Doing well actually.’

‘As is Vanessa...’ Specter concluded. ‘So your question, or what you attempted to manifest, has become essentially pointless.’

Chuckling after these exchanges, I smoked a portion of my cigarette again before looking back at the casino facility, making sure that the security guards were on hand to prevent any fans from haggling us incessantly.

‘What isn’t pointless, though, is how much we made an impact at World War X. You crushed Devin Stone, and I ended up being the Sole Survivor in War Games.’

‘But at what cost?’ Specter enquired. ‘New Edge Wrestling is dead ... at least it would seem. What you represented was put out of commission due to political agendas, and you ended up being the sacrificial lamb for that transfer to be effectively defined.’

‘That was just the company. Our contracts are still intact. My career is still flourishing with greater prospects and higher ambitions. Besides, I wasn’t fully representing New Edge Wrestling. I was in there to generate respect, and after how the match ended, you can’t exactly doubt that I should receive some grateful acknowledgment.’

‘That remains to be seen...’ Specter said in a patronising tone. ‘You’re not giving them respect, so why should you demand it from them? You’ve become a cold-hearted piece of shit that only cares about himself. And you want to call them hypocrites? You’re a bigger hypocrite than you accuse them of being, in more ways than one.’

‘Explain how that is so...’ I started to ask until the screeching of car tyres caught our attention, turning towards the circular drive-way again where a vehicle, its interior streaming with smoke, had braked sharply and was parked across the singular lane. Out of the vehicle came Kenath Israel, looking disgruntled and agitated, and joining him was his partner Wondabread, a rather large blunt clamped between his lips as he stumbled towards the pavement like he had been drunk for hours.

‘It looks like the third participant has arrived...’ Specter clarified, even though he didn’t need to, focusing on Kenath as he clenched his fists and stormed straight towards me.

‘What’s wrong, Kenath? Did you lose another valuable access...’

Before I could finish my question, it was abruptly stopped by Kenath swinging his arm and catching me with a solid punch across the face. Unable to maintain my equilibrium from the shock and impact of the punch, I embarrassingly tumbled to the ground, somehow not losing grip of my cigarette as agony coursed through my side and face. I was already battered and bruised from my extreme conflicts at World War X, so whatever pain had temporarily vanished had been instantly ushered back, riddling me completely and making my recovery from the concrete that much more difficult to overcome.

Kenath was about to continue his assault until Specter stepped in and pulled on his muscular arm, Wondabread too restraining the former Youngblood Champion as he cursed with bitterness and loathing.

‘Fuck you! Fuck you, you limey Brit!’

Exhaling with slight contempt, I managed to push myself upward from the ground before getting back to my feet, regaining my previous posture before checking my face for blood.

‘The only reason I came here was to do that! There’s no fucking way I’m teaming with you! No fucking way!’

‘Kenath...’ I coldly uttered whilst trying to subdue my anger, ‘that is the reason why we’re here.’

‘No! I’m not buying this “settling our differences” bullshit!’

‘So you simply want to defeat Inkt, Tommy Kain and L.A Kief by yourself? Okay Kenath, be my guest.’

It must have occurred to him how Team NEW ended up operating at World War X ... after recovering from his loss to Ophelia Pain that is. Beforehand, we were a thrown-together unit that couldn’t act cohesively or in unison. It took some exercises and trust bonding work until we were capable of putting our chemistry to the test, and we were able to vanquish our opposition in different forms. If we could somehow manage to co-exist all together, despite the formulations of distrust, negligence and hatred we had for each other, except for who we knew best, then obviously me, Specter and Kenath could get onto the same page.

Unfortunately, Kenath didn’t want to be on the same page. In fact, he had taken the book we were supposed to be collectively digesting and ripped it to shreds before handing it to Wondabread to smoke continuously with a large batch of weed – from a metaphorical standpoint. I wasn’t even sure if Wondabread smoked pages from books, but if he did, he needed to start taking ones from dictionaries and English Language tutorials.

‘Yo, hold up bro...’ Wondbread said as he lowered his blunt. ‘Look, it’s not like we don’t trust you. We just hate you.’

‘Thanks for that previously-unknown clarification...’ I sarcastically responded before disposing of my cigarette. ‘Do you honestly think I’m looking forward to teaming with a man who should be incarcerated for criminal offences? Do you think I’m joyously contemplating the fact that I’d have to share a potential victory with a man who has shown acts of incompetence, stupidity and vulgarity in not just the past, but in the last couple of minutes? I hate him just as much as he hates me. If Alcatraz was still open, I would have seriously considered leaving him there as a prisoner...’

‘Are you being racist?’ Kenath venomously questioned, his left eye twitching to show his developing rage. ‘If you are then we’ve got some serious problems.’

‘I don’t think his comments are implied from the colour of your skin...’ Specter intrusively opinionated, but despite stepping in without notice he was correct. ‘And to contribute to this discussion, I don’t exactly favour either of you as a whole too.’

‘So why are we here? Why can’t we just do our own thing, prepare for a fight and do whatever it takes to win on Insanity instead of pretending that this shit between us is all gone and is being replaced with happiness?’

‘Because we need to establish a team strategy...’ I said to Kenath. ‘As much as we’d all like to simply decimate our opponents aggressively and smartly on our own, we can’t just ignore each other. That sort of thinking will get us nowhere and put us at a disadvantage.’

‘But Inkt, Tommy Kain and L.A Kief can’t stand each other ... except for those two fruity pebbles...’ Kenath said, trying to state that each team were equal in that regard.

‘That’s where you’re wrong, I’m afraid...’ I replied, turning towards the Romanesque columns and stone designs of the casino and walking towards the entrance, insisting that they follow my lead.

‘Care to elaborate?’ Specter asked as the doors automatically opened for us, the security guards doing their job expertly as they blockaded us from the people who recognized our features and wanted to either abuse us verbally and physically, or bother us so much for autographs and pictures that it would give anyone a migraine.

‘After recuperating, getting medical attention, showering, changing into new clothes and packing up my stuff in the main building of Alcatraz where we were all stationed before our matches, I happened across a distant yet vociferous and volatile exchange between Inkt and Ryan Pugh.’

‘What were they saying?’ Wondabread enquired, looking around sheepishly and cautiously as he tried to keep his illegal stash concealed in his clothes, which I could tell he had by his body language.

‘Inkt was obviously frustrated and appalled at the cRu losing the Main Event, which was understandable, blaming it on Al Envy and how they were supposed to be a dominant team. He also accused Ryan Pugh of making a stupid move by buying New Edge Wrestling for approximately five people, and after Pugh warned him regarding his behaviour, he snapped and wanted Pugh to fire him.’

‘Interesting...’ Specter mused aloud, taking a sparkling drink from the tray of a passing maid and smiling at her courteously as he did so.

‘So where do TK and Kief come into this?’

‘I’m getting to that point...’ I said. ‘After Pugh and Inkt ended their talk on a sour note, there was silence for a while. Getting closer to where the argument had taken place, I stayed near one of the corners and peered around.’

‘So you were being a covert spy of sorts?’ Kenath said. ‘I knew you were like that posh piece of shit James Bond.’

‘There was Inkt, slumped down on the ground, sharing his flask with Tommy Kain. And for some strange reason, even after their history on opposing sides, they were...’

‘Talking as if they were friends?’ Specter asked, nodding to one of the uniformed men as they allowed us into a VIP section of the casino to play some cards.

‘Precisely. Inkt was acting ... weird it seemed, as though he had been medicated and that his rage and anger were coming out at random times. Tommy Kain wasn’t being cautious either. He was relaxed, even drinking some of the fluid that Inkt kept in ... that flask...’

‘Oooh, drugs!’ Wondabread regaled loudly, causing several people to turn around quizzically and acknowledge him as if he were a mental patient on day-release.

‘I’m not insinuating that to be the case...’ I continued, taking a seat at a table for 3-Card Poker, ‘but even Kief, when he arrived, was acting as though they could get along and be “buddies”.’

‘I’m suspecting that there are hidden agendas between all three men...’ Specter theorized. ‘But the one thing they all seem to agree on, mentally, is that with New Edge Wrestling purchased by PCW, they think we’re trespassing on their domain, and need to earn our way in.’

‘Fuck that shit! I say we kick their asses and show them that we still belong here. Then, afterwards, I’m going to kick your ass, Slater, because I hate your fucking guts!’

‘Well at least you’ve managed to accept what we need to do...’

‘Damn straight. You know, I hate you, and I can’t stand you, but from what you’re saying about erm ... those other guys, it means we’ve got to act together.’

‘Will I be the referee too?’ Wondabread said as he tried to find a vacant stool.

‘Fuck no!’ Kenath objectively said. ‘You were the one that cost me my title by ringing the damn bell! You’re not going to cost me this match by doing something stupid again!’

‘But you were out cold and unresponsive...’ I confirmed, watching the table as the dealer sorted through the deck of cards and started dealing them out in a successive pattern.

‘Do you seriously want me to punch you again?’

‘Do you want me to inform the managers of this casino that you’re cheating?’

‘Huh, what? But I’m n...’

‘Or that Wondabread over there is carrying what can only be classified as a substance of immediate...’

‘Damn man, you’re being harsh and callous about this shit! Ease up.’

‘Then if you don’t want me to bestow anymore evidential threats, then I suggest that we stay separated and work on team strategy. Understood?’

‘... I’ll get you back...’ Kenath uttered as he looked down at his cards in his hand, rolling his eyes before he slapped them down angrily.

‘3-Card Poker...’ Specter said intriguingly as he vocalized the name of this game, ‘... it kind of symbolizes the power of three, doesn’t it?’

Were we suddenly telepathic? That was what I was about to refer to and augment to strengthen our motivations and keep our qualities in check.

‘The Power of three can be attributed to a few things...’ I replied, continuing his thought process as we played our game. ‘For instance, there are three divisions of time. Past, present and future. You would match the past Specter, for your accomplishments and longevity in the company. I would match the present for my current victory in such a large match. And, to be fair, Kenath Israel would match the future, for what he can achieve if he concentrates and doesn’t keep getting stoned on weed or knocked unconscious.’

‘You know what else is in my future?’

‘Let me guess...’ I began to say, until he interrupted me.

‘Kicking your skinny ass and taking back my Youngblood Championship.’

‘I thought as much...’

‘The power of three is also symbolic to the sum of all human ability,’ Specter established. ‘Those would be thought, word and deed.’

‘So I would match thought for my intellectuality and tactics...’ I opinionated, ‘... you would match word for your vows, promises and commitments, and how you can smartly and logically define things with simple speech, and Kenath ... would be deed.’

‘Deed for what?’

‘Deed for that you always strive for something and attempt to get it done, even if it fails miserably. You have that sort of characteristic, to physically do things in order to achieve results.’

‘Ah, I see how that fits...’

‘And the Greek Philosopher Plato also divided his Utopian City in three populations...’ Specter said, probably having learned this from Vanessa, as she was an avid tutor of Greek Mythology and its glorious history. ‘Those populations were the labourers, the guardians and warriors, and the other philosophers...’

‘Before we start comparing each other again and turning this into a repetitive theme...’ I said, ‘I think it’s safe to say that the number three matches a lot of symbolic, meaningful things. However, there is one thing that we need to make sure we establish that matches the number three.’

‘And that is?’ Kenath asked, walking right into my obvious answer.

‘The count of three. Once Inkt, or Tommy Kain, or L.A Kief collapse against our onslaughts, we will register the number three in a manner that will regard us as the absolute victors. It can’t be criticized. It can’t be falsified. It can’t even be ignored. New Edge Wrestling might be gone as a company, but we are not, and that is what we will prove to them on Insanity. I eliminated Inkt at World War X to win for Team NEW, and should we be the two legal men in that match, I’ll make sure to repeat what transpired in the Main Event.’

‘Well I’m hoping to take down that fat fuck Kief!’ Kenath expressed. ‘The way he jives, the way he acts, the way he ... it’s disgusting, man!’

‘I guess that leaves me with Tommy Kain...’ Specter clarified, ‘a man that I might soon face for the Southern Championship, seeing as how that division and the Trans-Atlantic division have been equivalently combined. This will be my opportunity to show him that I can’t be frowned upon or told to stay away, because I’m staying where I know I belong.’

‘Let’s all make this work...’ I finally said, although I knew it would be harder done than said. And at that moment, when we revealed our cards to match the cards the dealer had flipped over, we all coincidentally had the number three in our randomly-assigned hands. This was a sign of things to come, and as I looked at Specter and Kenath, they internally understood the same thing I did.

The power of three would be on our side as we roamed into Insanity with the intention of victory, and Inkt, Tommy Kain and L.A Kief would be our examples to show that we weren’t about to crumble and fold, just like the company that we had been transferred from which would be remembered in the minds of all those who adored it from beginning to end.

[Kief]

Vince Walters runs out the bathroom door as if he never saw a grown fat man covered in "paste" before. We all know he has.

"Hold me tiny dancer." Kief yelled after him, but it was too late, Vince was gone. But Kief's good friend Tommy was there.

Tommy: Ah, Kief what happen big guy? Peener went boom?

"Yes. Peener went boom."

Tommy: Poor Kief, we have Pheely clean you up in a jiffy.

"I hope she wears a whit shirt so I can splash water on her and see her boobies."

Tommy: I make sure of it.

"Tommy, I don't like Inkt, he is untrustworthy." Kief said  as Tommy covers him with paper towels, and led him out of the bathroom.

Tommy: Shit Kief neither do I but we need to trust him a little,  we PCW boys need to stick together and show those rejects from the former fed call NEW that they just can't come in here and think they are going to take over. We need to teach those bitches a lesson PCW style.

"Get them drunk and run a train on Spaz?"

Tommy: Uh... No that's Kief style. PCW style is beat there asses in the ring.

"I miss Spaz, he had the nicest anus."

Awkward silence.

Tommy: Kief, I need you to focus these coming weeks, this fed is going go through some changes wish we might not like, we as in the Misfits need to stick together. You can fool around all you want outside of the ring, fight Pirate Dinosaurs or Zombie Feral Cats, but once, in that ring you can't let your mind wander. 

"I know Tommy. Pugh-ugly really did a number on NEW, waves were made,I'm sure Matt, Adrien, and Kenneth aren't happy about it.  Butt fuck them, right up there pretty anuses."

Tommy: Yeah, right. Let's get you home now.

And he did, and after a good wash in the tub, by Ophelia, Kief was shining and new.

So there Kief was in his basement of the Misfit's firehouse, when our good buddy Alpharius 
appears. He looks upset.

"What's wrong noodle?" Kief asked his buddy.

Alpharius: ....

"I really don't know the answer that. I' m going to guess seven ducks, three geese, and maybe one panda.

Alpharius was happy with that answer and left. What a strange question that was.

{Inkt that rat bastard.} Kief begins to think to himself. {He still has my TV title, I need to get that back before he soils it any more. Cthulhu only knows what he does with my belt. Nothing dignify I bet. But I must put that behind me now. Tom Tom is right as much as it burns my balls, we must work together. Those jerk faces aren't jokes even though they came from a joke fed.} 

"I think I will sing a song!" Kief said with joy.

Yet sadly before he could bless us with his glorious singing voice. A Chronos cloud explodes, and out comes...Future L.A. Kief!!!

"Future Kief!"

Future Kief: Hello past self I come from the future with grave news.

"Oh noes!"

Future Kief: What I need to tell you I tell you with sadness from my heart, and I know Ophelia doesn't want me to tell you this, but I must inform you of this peril. 

"Oh great chaos! It must be bad. But I must know this dreadful future news."

Future Kief: Ophelia is going to make lasagna in the next week, don't eat it, for the love of god DON'T. EAT. IT. 

"Explosive diarrhea?"

Future Kief: Worse.

"Worse? What can be worse then explosive diarrhea?"

Future Kief: Double explosive diarrhea!

Egads! 

"Holy triple rainbow! D.E.D! But that is only stuff of myths and legends, it's not real."

Future Kief: Oh it's real, it's damn real!

Kief is in shock he has seen things across the myriads of multiple universe that will drive sane men insane and insane men sane. But D.E.D, even that boggles the mind of Kief. Its like saying Matt has a nice fluffy ass, or Adrian has bouncy balls, or even Kenneth doesn't bleach his anus on a daily basis. These things simply do not exist.

"I take this under advisement." 

Future Kief: I understand, oh one more thing before I head back, back to the future"

"Yes?"

Future Kief: Pugh loves you.

"Sweet!"

With a burst of chronal energy, Future L.A. Kief returns to the future, never to be seen again, at least not until Crisis on Myriad of Infinite Earths.

....…...........

Prologue to Kieflander 3- There can be only Kief

It seems almost unreal to him, yet here he is again, hunting himself. He thought he got them all  the last time he was wrong.

L.A. Kief: Damn this world, so close to my own, it's un nerving.

He watches his other self, running after the ice cream truck, this worlds Tommy and Ophelia chasing after begging him to put his pants on.

L.A. Kief: Run while you can fat man, soon your head will be mine, and then there will be only Kief.
 
This L.A. Kief peers one time at his other struggling to get away while Tommy and Ophelia dress him. He place his sword away back into his sheath. Another time another place this will end, god helps any body wo gets in his way.

End prologue to Kieflander 3- There can be only one Kief.

............

Kief wakes up and took a look a the day and turns and stay in bed. Cause he is a fat ass.  Yet that whore Ophelia wouldn't let him. She enter his basement room...

Ophelia: Rise and shine, sleepy head. You got to get up and prepare for your upcoming match.

"Sweet breast, I have Inkt and Tommy to back me up, I can afford to be lazy. Inkt going to be a ring hog and take them all on at the same time. Like a really good gay porn. Tommy will charge in when Inkt will undoubtedly screw it up, and then I will come in and save the day.  People cheer, I eat. End of story. Now either, join me in bed or get out."

Ophelia looks at Kief and decided to join him in bed.

Ophelia: Oh Kief, I can't hide my lust for you anymore, Tommy be damn.

"What?"

Kief was in shock, he can't believe this, neither could his peener.

Ophelia straddles him and starts to grind away on his nether region. 

"Ah, oh yeah, that right"

Kief says in pleasure, as Ophelia works it like a rodeo pro.

Ophelia: You like that don't you, you like my tight pussy.

"God yes! Now slap me and call me dirty names."

Kief starts moaning louder and louder, he was in the throes of pure ecstasy, but he is making to much noise, it disturb Tommy, so he had to see what all the hub bub was about.

Tommy: What the hell?

Tommy exclaims as he emerges into the basement. He couldn't believe his eyes, it sicken him to his stomach the sight that he sees. Yet he couldn't move he was transfix on this ungodly scene before him. He was so distracted he didn't feel the hand on his shoulder until
she spoke...."Oh gross" Tommy turns his head and see his beloved standing by his side.

Tommy: I know, he is really working that body pillow.

Ophelia: Is...is that Pugh on the pillow cover?

Tommy: Yeah, he got a Pugh pillow cover for his body pillow.

Ophelia: I don't think no amount of washing will ever get that clean again. 

Tommy: I don't think my mind will be clean again. 

Ophelia: You don't think he is thinking of Pugh while he is sexually abusing that pillow?

Tommy: God only knows. I think it is best to leave him alone, I heard it is bad to wake up a sleep humper.

And they left a dreaming Kief lie.

THE END

[KeNath Israel]

^{[glow=blue,2,300]Ocean's 3[/glow]}

World War fuckin X. The only show in the world held in a prison, that I couldn’t win. It just seems perfect for me. But fuck that. The real factor of the night, I lose and Slater wins the main event, bullshit....

That guy didn’t even help me. After the loss he turned his tail and ran off somewhere into my mind. Turns out, he was just a hallucination from the heat and LSD in my water while I was training. His name was Tommy, that I know for sure. But was he real or not. I don’t think I could’ve done that standing shooting star, but I’ve been practising. Another of my preparations, my new PCW career. Something like that, the loss of one company and the re-rebirth(?) of another one.

Roger Wright turned on all of us. There wasn’t an announcement of NEW or PCW, there was no battle before one side gave in, Roger said fuck everyone and took the money. It’s a smart move. but where I come from. When you leave, you get destroyed, and roger will in due time.

But as for me, Hell I’m only here because it pays the best, I could go back to TE...wait..LXW...no...that became part of NEW.. How about NWW...no..Is Bloody Rage still in business? fuck it, PCW is the one paying, I’m just kickin ass for.....Ryan Pugh. and his goddamn creative team is already screwing me around

“Now Slater and I have to work together in this hell of a roundabout. It’s not that hard to imagine why we’re on the same team, but it’s harder to imagine what we’re supposed to do together. Be friends? Actually work as a tandem team with no one to stop us until we’re rule this place using our knowledge of each other to blow us to the top? Give me a fucking break. I mean first we got Spectre on our team, I’ll give the guy his respect, he can take shit and give it too. But he’s still just a prick who can’t catch a break..”

“Sounds familiar...”

I looked over at Wondabread sitting in the passenger side.

“First off I’m not a prick, secondly, I don’t go crazy every two months.”

“So your answer to working with the guy is to trash talk behind his back? And the new PCW is...not ever going to be you.”

“...”
I sat back in the white leather seat and gripped the wheel. I had no intention of working with the guys. Inkt Tommy and Kief probably thought the same. Though my head was clear enough to know that dancer and...

“god Kief is disgusting...”

“What?”

“Nothing. Look I’m not working with either of those guys. I can take all three of them on.”

“Maybe Kief, Tommy Kain would go down-

“I bet.”


Wonda shot me a look. “Be serious, bro.”

“Look you might’ve left after the show But Inkt was blowing up the guy is like a blackhole of porn and roids, you really think you can go in blindly and just stop him in his tracks?”

“Oh I have a strategy. See, I take out Keif and Kain, then let Inkt run through Slater and spectre, and then I just Edge that shit while everyone’s tired.

“I think Edge lost every title defence he had...so did you, did you use that same strategy in your match with Slater?”

Piece-a-shit white boy, knew nothing about wrestling. With a sigh, I turned right down the main street. I took the letter from the dashboard and read the coordinates. It was written with magazine clippings like a ransom note and said “Let us converge, and accompany one another conducting towards the vicinity of our aforementioned rendezvous location where we shall occupy and connect our contemplations of victory.”

Definitely Slater’s. He even managed to use perfect grammar, capitalisation and punctuation all whilst using newspaper and magazine clippings. Look, there’s a little comma he made from the playboy sign.

“Where is this Aforementioned Ron-dez-vous point?”

Wondabread snatched the note, causing us to fight over for a little bit until the Rolls-Royce Phantom began to swerve causing cars to honk behind me. I let go of the note and took the white wheel, regaining control.

“It’s pronounced Ronday-voo, dumbass.”

“Hey asshole!”One of the cars yelled at my side.

Fuck That. I rolled down the black tinted window and raised my middle finger in the air. My eyes drifted from the road and shot at the car next to me. The guy was talking something mad and motioned for me to pull over.

“Roll one Wonda..”

He pulled onto the shoulder first, and I reached under my seat for my heater. Wondabread took the revolver from my hands and I got out of the car, taking off my racing jacket and driving gloves that came with the rental car. In only a white T and jeans, I got out of the car and walked towards the man. white guy, about fifty something, the way he was raving and from the visible powder on his nose gave away his little secret.

“Hey you little mutherfucker! I’m gonna give you a fullhouse of a beatdo-It’s you!”


Fucking Bob Saget..

“Fuckin’ Bob Saget!”

The former host of AFV, in a turquoise polo walked towards me fists clenched. I did the same. We swung at each other, and for about thirty seconds we faded nonstop until Bob’s heart stopped and he passed out.

Looking around, I ran into his car, for an out of work actor, he had a pretty sweet Mustang, cherry red, and from appearance a few hookers wrapped up in cellophane. What is this guy, Kief? I checked the glove compartment and found a wad of cash, putting it in my pocket. I checked the passenger seat, nothing. Then the drivers seat no, wait hold on. A small brick I felt in my hands. But it was plastic unlike concrete. I pulled it out and noted that inside was filled with white power. It had a small slit in it, nothing a little tape couldn’t fix.

I ran back into the car and dropped the brick on Wonda’s lap before starting the car and driving off.

“Let’s go!”

Pressing the gas, I rushed out of there leaving the hookers to chew themselves out and help Bob back into the car. I turned to Wonda who had already hid the yay. “You got it rolled?”

“Not yet.”

He licked the tip of the blunt and pressed it over, fixing the slit cigar. He out it to his lips and lit it up. I rolled the window up and continued driving.

“So, how are you going to team with Slater?”

“no. No. I am NOT teaming with Slater! That fucker is going down the next time I see him.”

Instantly, my mind was filled with thoughts of the same guy who stole my belt and continues to parade around a hero. I gave him that spot. He wouldn’t have even won if I hadn’t of given
Al those ibuprofen when he said he had a headache. I didn’t know he’d overdose. but that’s beside the point. I’m facing the southern champion the TV champ and....a giant Saint Bernard. Either way, I’d have to team up with someone, Spectre would be one to trust in a tag match, but since my last run ins with the Court weren’t so friendly I’d doubt how much he wants to team with me. But never. NEVER will I team with Matthew Slater.

“Turn left here.”

“Thank you, Sarah.”

“You are welcome.”

As easy as it would be to believe had taken a long ride with me and Wonda, it was Sarah, the rental’s built in GPS. I punched in Slater’s coordinates and now to find out. It was a casino. Maybe he wasn’t such a dick afterall.

“Ay, Wonda. Toss the GPS after this, I can get some dough for this car.“

“Gotcha. Hey There he is, make or break time. You gotta work with him.”

“I ain’t doin shit! The first time he tries to say something on the slide, I’m cappin’ on him!”

There he was. Slater and Adrien Specter. I sped the car up even more and skidded the turn into the driveway, speeding into the handicap spot. Well half into the handicap spot, the other half of the car was parked in the regular spots.

With the car parked I got out. Smoke ran out the car like the cops were after it when I opened up the black doors. The first thing I noticed, Slater looking at me, smoking a fag like usual. He opened his mouth and I walked towards him.

“Hey, KeNath -blah blah BLAHH”

-KA-PUNCHED!-

Before he could finish, my fist met his face and the two had a disagreement. To say that I struck him was an understatement. Inside that fist was everything I thought about Slater, everything he said about me, plus my feelings on World War X, his victory and my loss. All in one hit.

“Fuck You!”

Slater got up. I prepared one just in case he was in the mood to retaliate, but Adrien grabbed my arm and Wonda grabbed my shirt. Slater stood up and continued smoking his cigarette. With all the anger I had settled down, I tried making peace.

“Soo...Sup Spectre?”

“Nothing much, winning. You?”

Damn..

“You guys think we can get inside?” Wonda looked around as he held his coat tighter to him. He started to sniffle and immediately I knew what was up.

After a bit of talking it was obvious we all couldn’t get along.

“So why the fuck we even here? Why can’t we just do our own thing, get ready to fade and do whatever it takes to win on Insanity instead of pretending that this shit between us is all gone and is being replaced with happiness?”

“Because we need to establish a team strategy...” Slater began to say. “As much as we’d all like to simply decimate our opponents aggressively and smartly on our own, we can’t just ignore each other. That sort of thinking will get us nowhere and put us at a disadvantage.”

Fuckin Slater, always trying to make people go HIS way. Do things the way HE wants them. My god I want to punch that fucker again!

“But Inkt, Tommy Kain and L.A Kief can’t even stand each other ... except for those two fruity pebbles...”

Least those three didn’t see eye to eye either. I don’t even think it would be that hard to just go in there, beat ass and leave.

“That’s where you’re wrong, I’m afraid...’ Slater replied like he actually knew what he was talking about and turned to the sculptures of the entrance to the casino and kept on going like we were supposed to follow his lead. Just because the guy won a match with thirty other people in it don’t mean he’s automatically team leader. It’s douchebags like him that make wrestlers look bad. Him and our opponents. God this was gonna be so easy. Kief is getting a boot right in the stomach!


‘Care to elaborate?’ Specter asked as the doors automatically opened. The guard rushed us and surrounded us,. Wondabread drawing his knife under his jacket. his eyes darted back and forth from the guards to me, knowing anything he’d do, I’d be forced to have his back. One guy at the slots recognized us and called me out.

“Fuck that! You lucky these guards is over here, I’mma kick yo ass as soon as I finish with that blackjack dealer.”

I looked all the way across the room and winked at the female dealer. Smiling, she gave me a seductive stare before going back to the cards.

With a half a mind to play blackjack, for some reason I followed Slater who completely ignored all of us and talked to Adrien from his back.

“After recuperating, getting medical attention, showering, changing into new clothes and packing up my stuff in the main building of Alcatraz where we were all stationed before our matches, I happened across a distant yet vociferous and volatile exchange between Inkt and Ryan Pugh.”

He would hear those two in the shower, wouldn’t he?

“Inkt was obviously frustrated and appalled at the cRu losing the Main Event, which was understandable, blaming it on Al Envy and how they were supposed to be a dominant team. He also accused Ryan Pugh of making a stupid move by buying New Edge Wrestling for approximately five people, and after Pugh warned him regarding his behaviour, he snapped and wanted Pugh to fire him.”

And this answered Adrien’s question, how?

“Aaand? This has absolutely nothing to do with this. Yeah it’s relevant, but how in the hell is this going to help us with Inkt and Tommy Kain and.....Kief...”

“Hold on.” Adrien stopped me from punching him again, which I really wanted to do at this point.But of course, he was right. We’d have to work together...at least till we get to Inkt.

“Interesting...” Was all he had to say. Honestly I really thought Adrien was more of a talker..One of the ladies passed by with a tray of drinks. Spectre took something clear, and smiled at the girl like a fucking pansy. I took a couple. Then put them back on the tray one after another after the chug. I gave the girl a congratulatory slap on the ass for her good job.

“So what about TK and Kief?”

“I was wonderin’ the same damn thing!”


‘I’m getting to that point...’ Slater said. But I doubted it.

‘After Pugh and Inkt ended their talk on a sour note, there was silence for a while. Getting closer to where the argument had taken place, I stayed near one of the corners and peered around.’

“So you peeped on them in the shower?”

Adrien placed his hand over his face and Slater just sighed.

“Dude..”Wonda nudged at my arm. “You just made Specter Face-palm, dude! Spec-palm!”

Slater went on talking about nothing until he got to the point.

“And there they were, Inkt and Kain, sharing a drink from Inkt’s flask.”

“You would talk about Inkt’s flask...”

After more talking it was obvious none of us could get on the same page. Finding the only table with three card poker, the three of us sat down, Wonda going to the bathroom. Evidently it was a VIP section. and with the dealer focused on talking to the guards, I snatched a couple of cards from the top of the deck.

“Then, even when Kief came in, The three were acting like..”

“Like buddies?” Adrien interrupted Slater as he drew his three cards.

“Precisely.”

“Well then..” I said hiding the cards in my lap. “If those three weirdoes are working together, then I think we should, We gon kick some ass, show them that even though they own our contracts, Fuck PCW and then I’m kicking your ass, Slater. You know why? Cuz I just don’t like you.”

Slater came back on some grimy lowdown shit, and Adrien began some gibberish about the power of three he got from watching Charmed or some shit and I focused on the cards.

“Fuck all that Greek shit, this is now, shit!”

I switched out a few cards and smiled to myself.

“I just know Keif is mine, and if those dick smugglers get in my way, I’m taking them down too.”

I played my cards. 3,4,5.

“Flush..”

Oddly, all of our cards had the number three in it.

Adrien Spectre looked at the cards and chuckled, well he stood stoic as ever, but looked like if he knew how he’d chuckle.

“Why can’t you just get with us on this?”

“Yes, Kenath, we need to work toget-”

Cocking my left hand back, I punched Slater a second time. His face reddened and I was sure he was to retaliate.

“Now, we can work together.”

I took my cards and smiled at Adrien and Slater. I just felt the need to get that out. It relieved alot of tension and stress and now, with me thinning out everyone’s hate for each other, we could work as a unit now.

“Now...If we’re going for team names, we could be Team Krayzee, if everyone’s down with that, you know..”

“No.” Adrien cut in. “Obviously we’re team Specter, I’m pretty much the most successful one of us.”

“Well, I for one, gave NEW victory in the World War X main event, In my book we should be team S-”

“Fuck. To. The. You. I’d rather be under baldy over there than you. And this isn’t even about team names. This is about taking out Inkt, the Tyranical Teabagger, and Chip and Dale Rectum Raiders over there.”

“But you brought up the team name thing.”

Damn Slater, always thinking he knows everything, so what if he knows some words, does he know Inkt is too roided out to even know what a referee is? I think not, and for that he will make me have to safe his ass and pull out the win.

“This ain’t about me! This is about beating PCW at their own game, and showing them that we don’t need NEW to beat some ass. And not in Kief’s way either.”

Wonda, coming from a long ass time in the bathoom. His eyes darted back and forth and he stared at everything as if it was going to kill us.

“Umm...You didn’t tell me they had guards everywhere man, what if they check me man? I can’t go to jail-I can’t go to jail...”

“Get a hold to yourself, man!”

I grabbed Wondabread and pulled him down slapping him across the face.

“Hey, I’m the one who has to team up with these guys to take on PCW, and besides, you only got like half the bag left.”

“Oh, yeah..” Wonda nodded and began to smile, heading towards the craps table and pressing his luck.

I played my hand as Adrien moaned for the third time in the game.

“Guess you guys can’t keep up..”

I smiled and stood up to reap my chips as my teammates wallowed in their everlasting bad luck. As I scooped the chips and bent over, all the cards had fallen out from my sleeves and shirt. I stood there, frozen in embarrassment as Slater crossed his arms and smiled. One again, SpecPalm!

[Adrien Specter]

Some people may not know this…but I’m not an arrogant person. I generally don’t like to push myself into a position of superiority, unless it truly is required. A fine example of this would be last week, where I handed Devin Stone his frankly egotistical ass. The guy says I’ve done nothing with my career, and yet there I stood, a Blackout Champion before I entered the ring…and with my hand raised at the end of it.

That right there, is an example of when I feel I’ve kinda got to make people take notice of the fact how good I actually am. I’m not a boastful man, I don’t aim to shit talk people, but sometimes, you just got to go out there and prove a point. Namely, that just because I don’t possess an ego, doesn’t mean I don’t deserve one.

However…there are other times when you just got to look back, and allow the world to bask in your glory. Those times when you knew you were right, but nobody listened. The irony being that no one believed you, no matter how hard you tried to warn them, and then right at the end of it, you’re the one who was right all along.

And yes, it is with great pride and joy that I say these words to you now…

I fucking told you so.

Who was the one who said someone would join the cRu? This guy.

Who said it would be Roger? This guy.

Who was the one who stuck to his guns because he wouldn’t be sacrificed in a match so someone could fuck him over? …I think you see the pattern.

Oh yes, I called it, I warned you all this was gonna happen, and which of you believed me? None of you. Because Wright was given a position of power, you all thought you could trust him. And yet who’s the one who sold of NEW? Who’s the one who signed us all away for a fucking penny each? The man who would NEVER turn on New Edge!

And who was the one to be the sacrificial lamb in all this? The man of who fucked me over last year in the same match.

Karma is a cunt, isn’t it?

And as I sat there, looking over at Slater periodically while we played cards in the Commerce Casino, I couldn’t help but smile as I could only help but imagine him being dealt The Wright Stuff…Over…and over…and over again in my head. However, slowly turning to my right, I saw Kenath Israel, his eyes fixated on the cards in his hand. Now, if you’re wondering why I’d be hanging with these two…then you really need to learn to play some attention, because if that were the case, then maybe you wouldn’t have got fucked over.

…Sorry, I’ll stop now. Anyway…

As the first act of our new boss, I found myself cast within a 6 man tag match, with the two aforementioned men against a team of PCW’s finest. Namely Inkt, Tommy Kain, and LA Keif. Immediately listening to the line-up, victory seemed assured. Myself and Slater had worked together in the past, and Kenath was more than capable of holding his own. Yes, Kain and Keif may be something of a formidable tag team, but with Inkt, a member of The cRu, tagging with them, how were they ever going to work together?

According to Slater’s spy work…apparently quite well. After overhearing discussions between Mr. Kain and Inkt, Matt was in certainty that they would become a cohesive unit against our frankly rag tag team of individuals who were looking over their own interests. Ken was looking to prepare himself for Slater next week. Slater wanted to continue the wave of momentum he had gained by being the last man standing out of War Games, and me…well I was happy just being smug at this point in time, but I digress.

I already knew what was coming. Next week I would be having a unification match against Tommy Kain. His Southern Title against my Trans-Atlantic title, winner takes all. Now, I’ve never had the privilege of facing Tommy, something that shall be rectified next week, however, this week was a scouting mission. Unlike Inkt and Keif, or Israel and Slater, my title would be against someone I hadn’t been forced into a team with. It would be against someone I had no firsthand experience with, and that would be the first thing I was intending to do.

As my hand reached down to pick up the tonic water before me, I looked down at my card, scanning the other two in order to achieve come sort of scope of their playing style. Slater seemed pretty strait up. No risks, no thrills, just getting the job done. Israel on the other hand, had the quite obvious tell of whenever he had a good hand, he would always rub his leg…or it could just be him playing with the card he’d stolen from the dealer. Me on the other hand…well…

…I’m suicidal.

“All in.” I explained, pushing my chips into the middle of the table as Slater and Ken watched me carefully, Slater laying his hand down softly while Ken looked down at his cards, wondering what to do.

“Fold.” Matt replied, pushing his cards to the dealer, as all the attention fell upon Israel. As his eyes looked up at me, I could sense there was something in his eyes. He knew he didn’t have a hand that could beat me, and yet he still didn’t want to fold. It’s almost as if he knew he was going to lose, but demanded he went out fighting anyway…

…and his next words only confirmed my suspicions.

“Fuck it, I’m calling…” Kenath explained as he pushed his stack into the middle of the table, before turning his cards over. A pair of Jacks. Not the best hand in the world, but respectable none the less. I turned to Slater slowly, his eyes watching us with intrigue as to how this would turn out. And as I put down three 7’s, Matt couldn’t help but smile, his eyes looking up at Ken, who tried to hide his anger at the situation.

“You see Ken, that’s what happens when you underestimate an opponent. Just like “The Tyrannical Teabagger” and “The Chip and Dale Rectum Raiders” as you’ve so poetically named them, you underestimate them, and you’ll suffer the consequences of your actions.” Slater explained as I carefully watched the pair of them.

“Bitch, if I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it.” Israel explained, his tone irritated at Matt’s interjection into our hand.

“Now gentlemen, we’ve not got time for this. Look, we’ve only got to work together this week, then next week, you can kick the shit out of each other, OK?” I asked in desperation.

“I got no worries about me going in there and kicking ass, the problem I have is it might be that bitch ass I’m kicking…” Israel explained as his finger pointed towards Matthew.

“Look, I’m willing to cast aside our differences for one match, but allow me to make this clear so that you can understand-“ Matt began before Israel interjected himself again.

“You see? How can I work with this mother fucker?! The guy’s got my title, he treats me like I’m an idiot, and he’s got one of those faces that looks good with a fist in it.” Ken explained, as slowly I turned my head to look at Slater.

“He’s right you know, you do have one of those faces…” I replied bluntly as Matt looked at me in confusion.

“So you’re agreeing with this Neanderthal?” Slater asked as suddenly Ken walked around, getting in the face of Matt.

“See, he’s calling me stupid again!” Ken explained “All because I don’t believe in his Greek shit!”

“Greek shit?” Slater asked, looking up at Kenath, standing half a foot over him.

“That Power of Three bullshit you keep sproutin’.”

“It was simply an observation…” Slater replied

“Well this is my own observation.” Ken explained, before he raised his fist and punched Slater in the face again, causing him to fall backwards into a slot machine, causing coins to come flying from it. “I smack you in the mouth three times, and you go down three times. The Power of Three Asshole!”

Suddenly, as Matt sprung to his feet, looking to retaliate, I quickly stepped in, catching Slater in a simple wrist lock, before his hand could smack Israel. Sure, it wouldn’t hold him for long, but it would be enough for the purpose.

“Ken, I think we need a bit of a time out.” I explained, as Slater looked back at me, his face growing with a simmering anger at the fact I had stopped him in his retribution.

“Fine, I needed a smoke anyway. Let’s get outta here man.” Israel said, looking around for Wonderbread, only to see him over my the slot machine, picking up the coins the spilled from it. Quickly, Kenath walked over to him, before grabbing him by the neck of his shirt, and escorting him from the building, “The fuck is wrong with you man?!”

As Ken left, Slater quickly pulled his arm away from my grip, returning to an upright position before turning to look at me.

“So you’re siding with him?” Slater asked, his tone cold and irritated.

“Correction. I’m on whoever’s side is going to get me victory…” I explained as Slater chuckled.

“And you think that’s gonna be him? In case you didn’t notice, I was the sole survivor of the War Games match by beating Inkt, one of the men of whom we have to face next week.”

“Before Roger came out and bitched you out on worldwide PPV. Your point?” I retorted. Suddenly Slater opened his mouth to speak, before I raised my hand to stop him. “My point is…you trusted Roger didn’t you, otherwise you wouldn’t have fought in the War Games match. You trusted him, and in the end he made you look like a bitch. Now you don’t trust Kenath, which is understandable, but at least you know if he’s going to fuck you over, he’s gonna do it in front of your face, rather than behind your back.”

At my words, Slater slowly closed his mouth, seemly unable to argue with my logic in the matter. Just as he had proven in that fateful hand of cards, Israel wasn’t scared of losing, but he was gonna cause his opponent some fucking problems before it happened.

“Fact is Slater, he don’t like you. You took his title away from him-“

“And he stole the watch Cera gave me before our match…” Matt replied, trying to justify himself.

“And you really want to sink to his level to prove a point? This tit-for-tat shit you two are going through gets resolved next week. This week, you get your head out your asses and fucking put up with one another until that final bell rings. Then you can kill each other for all I care.” I explained as I turned towards the door.

“And where are you going?” Slater called behind as I turned back to him.

“I’m gonna go tell Ken the exact same fucking thing I just told you.” I explained, as I left Slater on his own, as he sat back down, downing his drink before ordering another in irritation.

As I walked out the hotel, I looked around the courtyard, wondering where he could have got to. Considering I’d left him for 30 second, he couldn’t have got far, before I turned towards one of the valets.

“Excuse me, I’m looking for a Brick Shithouse of a man. Can you tell me where he’s gone?” I asked, as the woman looked at me in a mixture of shock and confusion, as suddenly I shook my head. “Sorry, English expression. I’m looking for a guy who’s fucking huge who looks like he’s about to rip the head off the scrawny piece of shit he’s hanging out with.”

“Oh, you mean the black guy?”

Spec-palm.

“Yes, the black guy…I was trying to be PC about the thing, but yes, I’m looking for the big black guy.”

“He’s around the corner.” She explained as I walked toward where she pointed, shaking my head in disbelief. Slowly looking around the corner, that’s where I found him, blunt light up in his mouth, talking to some of the other valets on their break. Slowly I descended upon them as Ken’s eyes looked over to me.

“I’m not apologizing…” He explained quickly, as I walked up to him.

“Please, I’m enjoying watching you smack him.” I explained as I leaned on the wall, extending my hand towards him. “You mind?”

Ken looked at me confused, before looking down at the blunt in his hand, then back to me, his eyes widening a little. Cautiously he offered it to me, as I reached forward and took it, before putting it to my lips and inhaling slowly. As the intoxicated air began hitting my lungs, I immediately began to feel a warm sensation fill through me as I held in the smoke, before slowly releasing it out of my body into the open air, before passing the blunt back to Israel.

“Thank you.” I said softly, enjoying the sensation run through me as Ken took a toke himself.

“Well if you’re not out here to make me say sorry, then what you here for?” Israel asked.

“Out of the option, you seemed better company then Slater…I dunno what it is about the guy. I mean, yes, he had talent-“

“He’s got tenacity…” Ken continued on before looking over to me.

“He’s got clear ability…”

“Endurance…”

“Strength…”

“Speed…”

“But through all that…” I explained, suddenly changing tone.

“You just can’t help but think…” Ken continued, passing blunt back to me.

“The the guy is a true-”

“Grade-A-“

“Douche bag.” Me and Ken said in unison, before looking to each other with a smile.

“Well at least we’re on the same page.” Ken replied as I took a drag of the blunt, before passing it back, feeling my head begin to grow lighter as time passed. “So why are you hanging out with the guy?”

“Because I suppose I can kinda understand where he’s coming from.” I explained, “The guy can’t help but be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Hell, I mean would you have trusted Roger to lead your team to victory before he pulled the rug out from under ya?”

“White Boy in a suit? I trust him less than I do that mother fucker.” Ken replied, as I nodded my head slowly in agreement.

“Ya see! You wanna know why he did it? To protect Cera.”

“You mean Cunt-Hulk” Israel explained as I nodded my head in agreement.

“I KNOW RIGHT! What the fuck is that woman taking! The bitch kicks out of everything!” I exclaimed as Ken started laughing.

“Didn’t kick out of the Dull Needle though did she?”

“Well that’s because that wasn’t the only think Inkt was spearing in that bitch.” I laughed.

“Hey, what about you though? It’s a little hypocritical of you to say he follows around some pussy when you do too?” Israel asked, looking over at me with a sly smile, thinking he had caught me out.

“Yeah, but there’s something you don’t understand. I’ve tasted the honey of both of them, and the one I’m licking now tasted a whole lot sweet my friend.” I explained as Kenath shook his head in disbelief, sucking on the blunt.

“Shit man…”

“But you understand why he’s picked to go against Inkt don’t ya?” I asked, looking over at Israel, “Guy’s woman gets taken out by her ex…whatever the fuck those two were, and suddenly Slater feels emasculated, because Inkt can get Cera on her back like that!” I explained, snapping my finger to emphasize my point. “So he feels he’s gotta go out and prove that he can beat the guy, and thus prove his dominance over him, and prove he’s the better man to his woman.”

“That’s some fucked up shit.”

“Take notes mother fucker, I expect promo’s about this shit when you win the Youngblood title back next week.” I joked as I took the blunt once more, toking on it before handing it back slowly.

“But why the fuck did I get strung up with Keif?! I don’t wanna get in the ring with him. You see that shit he did to Spaz? That’s some dropping soap in prison showers shit right there, and I’m the one who’s stuck with him?”

“Look, I’ll make you a deal. I want to watch Tommy for next week, but if I get in the ring with him, then he’ll start being able to scope me out, if you know what I’m saying.” I explained, before Ken interrupted.

“Yeah, I don’t care, all I wanna make sure if Keif isn’t scoping ME out, if ya know what I’m saying.” Israel explained as I shook my head at him.

“Look, we’ll make a trade off. You take Tommy off me, work him over for our match next week, and I’ll make sure Keif stays well away from your ass, deal?”

“Deal.” Kenath replied, turning and shaking my hand. “Now the problem is how the fuck am I gonna be able to put up with that asshole in there?”

“Well, you can always beat him at cards, that will make you feel better.”

“Naa…” Israel replied, before a smirk crossed my face.

“Punching him again is always an option…” I explained, as I looked to see Ken thinking about it in his mind.

“…Naa, I’ll save that.” He replied throwing the end of the blunt on the floor, before stepping on it to put out the ash.

“You…could always prove you’re better than him…”

“Bitch, I already AM better than him. I don’t need to prove a God Damn thing.” Ken replied bluntly.

“Yeah, but he doesn’t believe it…look, he’s having difficulty teaming with you too, because he’s scared you’re gonna take his title away next week. So this week you gotta confused him.”

“How ya mean?” Ken asked, suspiciously.

“He’s expecting you to go out there tomorrow and fuck us all over. So don’t do what he’s expecting you to. Tag him in. Act like a team player, and don’t give him the satisfaction of being right about you.” I explained.

“So what you’re saying is, if I play nice with that asshole…then I’ll be better than him.” Israel asked, making sure he had heard correctly.

“That’s right…” I replied as Ken stood on the spot, his face showing his clear thought on the proposition, before suddenly he raised his head at me.

“…It’s gonna be difficult, you know that, right?”

“I understand exactly how difficult it is, because I want to do the same thing you wanna do to him…” I replied, as Israel nodded his head slowly.

“Alright, I’m in…but as soon as this is over, I’m gonna kill him. You understand that, right?”

“As soon as this is over, I’m gonna be in your corner cheering you on.” I explained with a smile as Ken nodded his head.

“Cool…now let’s go kick his ass at cards.” Israel said making his way past me.

“Ken…I think that’s the smartest thing you’ve said all night.” I replied as slowly I followed him back into the building. Fact is I had spoken the truth. I didn’t care what these two did to each other, and I don’t care who won the Youngblood title in the end. Fact was all I cared about was getting this match with a strike in the win column for all three of us. Once that was done…

…then all hell could break lose.